How not to buy your wedding dress

Before I got engaged*, I always imagined wedding dress shopping would be a bit like that scene from Four Weddings And A Funeral. Less Hugh Grant getting the horn when I stepped out in something slinky, obvs, but still one big, giggly montage of hilarious moments as I tried on a bucket load of blatantly wrong dresses, before I stepped out in The One.

The truth? Sometimes it feels more like Mean Girls. Without Tina Fey to take the edge off.

Now I'm not that far off my goal, I decided it was finally time to brave the bridal shops. Yeah, I got a bit squidgy over Christmas, but I am sooo back on the diet of health. I'm sticking to Clean and Lean's hardcore 14 day plan. I'm working out at Bodyism twice a week. I went to Ten Pilates before it was light again this morning. Did I mention that I can sometimes get into a size 12 now? I did? A few times? Okay, then… All these things seemed to suggest that I was meringue-ready. Take that dress shops and your scary sample sizes!

I'm not naïve (well, sometimes I am. I still haven't forgiven my brother for making me believe – until the age of 13 – that men have three balls), so I was fully prepared for the dark side of dress shopping...

I'd seen one perfectly-shaped friend in tears because – despite being a size 12 – it felt like not one sample in the whole of London would do up. There was the time I told a mate how beautiful she looked on her Big Day, and she admitted she'd bought her dress from the place where the assistants were the nicest. "Some people can be vile," she said, clutching my hand. Gulp. Add to that the tale of my mate who overheard two assistants saying they *had* to be nice to her because the label in her coat read 'Ghost' rather than 'Primark' and I was a bit scared about the whole thing.

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Because even though it's meant to be The Best Day of your Life, boy, do some shop assistants have all the social skills of Snow White's stepmother.

One high-end store warned me – when I called to make an appointment – that all their samples were 10s and 12s so I "probably won't get in many". Go on, that's the *perfect* way to convince me to spend £1,000 in your shop.

One boutique in South London was particularly unpleasant. After scowling at my bridesmaid Lyndsay for daring to ask for a drink, the assistant told me I shouldn't try on a £2,000 dress because it was "probably out of my price range" (she clearly clocked the 'Matalan' label in the back of my coat). I felt like going back a day later, Julia Roberts/ Pretty Woman style, waving my (admittedly battered) Marc Jacobs handbag and telling her that working on commission was a "big mistake. HUGE."

You're always told when you try on The One, you'll know. Jesus, it's not enough you've found a bloke that yes, actually, you think you could spend forever with (as long as they stop leaving empty loo rolls on the holder and putting dirty socks next to, but not in the laundry basket). Now you're expected to have breath-catching feelings about a sinlge item of clothing too??

After you've dragged your mates round ten shops (sorry, Lyndsay) and still not heard any angels singing, you start to wonder if you're dead inside – and if this means you're also a failure as a bride/woman/human being in general.

Weirdly, all of this doesn't mean wedding dress shopping isn't fun. Get past the fact you have to strip down to your knickers while a shop assistant crowbars you into something the size of a marquee, and it's actually a bit of a laugh.

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And there are some shops out there that don't make you feel like you need to down three Dirty Martinis as soon as you get out the door. Ellie Sanderson in Oxford is amazing (if you go there ask for Nichola as she's one of the nicest and most patient people you will ever meet). Mirror, Mirror in Islington is fab and Blackburn Bridal in Blackheath is an oasis of loveliness.

It's also where I found my dress. I'm not going to say it's The One because IT IS ESSENTIALLY JUST A BIT OF WHITE MATERIAL (I may feel differently if it were a handbag). But I didn't want to take it off. So I took that as A Sign.

*Writing that sentence still makes me feel ever so weird. Like I am a *gulp* proper grown-up.

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